


nuMb

by 8ucky8arnes



Series: fragMents [15]
Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Because Compartmentalizing is NOT Healthy, Depression, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Season 2 spoilers, Sensory Overload, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 00:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17798009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8ucky8arnes/pseuds/8ucky8arnes
Summary: A small part of him wondered if feeling nothing was doing more harm than good. If blocking all the bad memories was better than reminding himself of the good ones, but then he remembered that all the good memories would do was remind him of all the people he’d lost, all the people he’d buried, all the people he’d failed to keep safe…Did he even have any good memories left?





	nuMb

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here's an angsty one-shot that absolutely _no one_ asked for! This is one of my shorter pieces, but I rewrote it three different times so I'm not sure if I like how this turned out but let me know what you guys think!
> 
> Warnings for violent thoughts, past addiction, drug cravings, depression, suicidal thoughts, and unhealthy coping mechanisms.

He knew he needed to move, that Sentinel Services and Purifiers were closing in on all sides, but he was frozen. Immovable as he stared down at the blood covering his hand and the ground… _her_ blood, flashes of bullets tearing through her over and over again, her body jerking with each impact…

He squeezed his eyes shut, but that had never stopped his abilities before.

He couldn’t block out the nauseating scent of iron mingling with gunpowder, triggering another onslaught of gunshots echoing off concrete and metal, her sharp gasp, her entire face going slack with shock as she fell to her knees…

A cold hand reached inside of him and _wrenched,_ something being ripped from him and leaving him hollow as staggered to his feet, clutching at his temples. There was nothing to hold back the darkness as it filled the holes that the light had once occupied, replacing the sunshine warmth with an all-consuming blaze that would burn everything away.

He was faintly aware of the little girl being moved away from him, Erg shielding her from him as John slammed his hands on the brick with so much force it crumbled under his palms. He should care that he was frightening her, should try to be the calm leader or even the comforting older brother he’d hadn’t been for over a decade but…

He just didn’t care anymore.

There was no point in pretending that it was all going to be okay. That there was a light at the end of this seemingly endless tunnel. That this war hadn’t already taken away anything and everything from him…

What was the point in fighting when all he’d fought for was gone?

“John, we need to go.”

A shudder went through him and he clenched his jaw, staring down the man who’d taken her away. Promised her a home, a place where she could live free of fear and persecution and the constant threat of death…a place where’d she’d be safe. _Alive._ His hands curled into fists as a lump formed in his throat, fingers sinking into the brick. “Then go.”

Erg just held his ground, ushering the girl away to the other end of the alley to watch for one of their vehicles to return. One dark eye gazed at him intently and there was a flicker of something. Sadness. Grief. _Pity._ “John…”

“Don’t.” He forced out, “There’s nothing to say.”

“I’m sorry, John. I never meant for anything to happen-”

“She wasn’t supposed to be down there!” _She was supposed to be with the Mutant Underground. She was supposed to be with me. She was supposed to be safe._ The final threads holding his self-control together snapped as his vision went red and he swung.

Erg flew into the air, landing on the ground with a dull thud and a low groan.

John barely heard the girl scream as he strode forward, so focused he hadn’t noticed anyone else arrive until light exploded across his vision. He cried out, the pain like a sledgehammer to the head and he staggered into the wall.

“Erg, take Faith to the car.”

Marcos’ voice was muffled like it was underwater and his first attempt to open his eyes had him emptying what little he had in his stomach onto the ground and John couldn’t even be mad at Marcos for using her enhanced senses against him…

John wasn’t sure what would’ve happened if he hadn’t…

He came over to John, stopping just out of arms reach. “I’m sorry about the flare, but what the hell you were thinking, throwing the man across the alley when we have the cops and Sentinel Services _and_ the Purifiers on our ass?”

“He shot her, Marcos. Turner shot her.” _Turner._ Something in him snarled at the thought of the man, stalking along the edges of his mind like a caged animal and it itched to be let out, to lash out at the person who was the embodiment of those who had taken _everyone_ from. To kill him like they’d killed Gus. Killed Sonya… He shook his head, trying to push it back and was almost frightened by how hard it was.

Marcos sucked in a sharp breath, “John…”

“She was right in front of me, Marcos. She was right there and…” he clenched his jaw as his head throbbed and ached, the images of those brilliant eyes holding his as she disappeared in a bright, swirling vortex of purples and pinks and blues…“Three times. He shot her three times and it just keeps playing over and over again…”

“Is she-”

“I don’t know.” He cut him off before the word _dead_ was spoken aloud, but that didn’t stop his thoughts from spiraling. It didn’t lessen the weight pressing down on his chest, the act of breathing becoming more difficult with each second…

“John?”

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. Not breathing.

Maybe then he wouldn’t have to smell her blood anymore or hear the gunshots or hear her fall…

“Hey, look at me.” Marcos’ fingers dug into his jaw, trying and failing to turn his head, “John!”

_“You're the one that said there's nothing noble about fighting for a lost cause.”_

_“I was wrong. I’m sorry.”_

Marcos heated up his fingertips, the sharp heat forcing John to take a breath. He almost hated how his body craved the burning touch and the agony it brought, but it was better than the emotional weight of his grief and his guilt and his anger and the pain that was slowly beginning to crush him…

So much pain.

_There is another way, you know. Another way to free yourself from it all. To find relief…_

John slammed a steel wall against the whispers, but the _need_ was already beginning to permeate everything else and he curled his hands into fists, barely negating the urge to put them through the brick in an effort to suffocate the cravings with something else. _Anything_ else…  

_You know that won’t work._

He clenched his jaw, turning his focus outward.

Three heartbeats. (Marcos. Erg. Faith.)

Oh, God. Faith, “The girl, is she okay?”

“She’s rattled, but it’s not all on you alight? A lot’s happened.”

He swallowed, “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry about…” Marcos made a vague hand motion, “Everything.”

John shook his head, shoving all emotion down far enough to allow himself the illusion of numbness. But he knew that all he’d done was build a dam between him and the pain and he hoped he could get to the end of this war before it broke apart because once it did, there was no coming back. He would be too lost in the dark waters, too far gone to be of any use…

He finally spoke, his voice was hard and cold, like steel…or stone, “It’s fine. I’m good.”

Marcos frowned, “No, you’re not, but that conversation is for anywhere but here. I know you don’t want to leave here, but we still have those people in the scrap yard.” There was a long pause, like he was choosing his next words carefully for fear of another blowup, “Clarice would want you taking care of them. Protecting them.”

Even with his eyes still firmly shut, the image of her blood on his hands was vivid, followed in rapid succession by the instant he realized Sonya was gone; the ash, blood, and tears that had coated Gus’ face as he died; the echoing screams and explosions as Evangeline and the others perished…

_Protect them? Like you protected the others?_

_You’ll fail them…just like you failed her…_

He reinforced the wall in his mind and a small part of him wondered if feeling nothing was doing more harm than good. If blocking all the bad memories was better than reminding himself of the good ones, but then he remembered that all the good memories would do was remind him of all the people he’d lost, all the people he’d buried, all the people he’d failed to keep safe…

_Did he even have any good memories left?_

The sharp stab of agony and grief that he’d expected at the thought hit the wall, leaving little more than a dent. He straightened slowly, embracing the pain wrapping around his head and squeezing even if it had him clenching his jaw.

At least he felt that.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Marcos swallowed, shifting his weight, “You’re not going to argue with me or-”

“You’re right, we need to go. We can’t stay here.”

His friend seemed concerned with the lack of…anything in his voice, but didn’t say anything more than, “You _do_ know your eyes are still shut, right?”

He might’ve smiled if the memory of Clarice asking a similar question wasn’t so out of reach, so blurry and out of focus. But even the faint impression of her bright eyes and warm smile hit the wall with surprising force, leaving cracks, “Yeah, well, I don’t need my eyes to see. The effects of your flare will wear off in a bit. Don’t worry about me.”

That last part wasn’t true. There was definitely a migraine building behind his eyelids, but he didn’t feel like making his friend feel worse right now. He’d bear the pain like he always had. He would survive. He always did…

Marcos smiled, “I’ll always worry about you.”

John said nothing more as he walked over to the car, opening the passenger side door as carefully as he could. He curled forward with one arm over his eyes, the fingers of his other hand digging into his thigh so hard it would leave bruises.

Faith sniffled, “Are you alright?”

Marcos spoke up, “Yeah, sweetheart, he will be.”

John wondered if anyone else but her could hear the lie.


End file.
